


The Saga of Trash Larry

by buckybleeds



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Ableist Language, Anal Fingering, Anal Gaping, Anal Sex, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, But like in a kinky this hurts and i like it way, Casual and low-key feminization of cis male characters, Dirty Talk, Dissociation, Felching, HYDRA Trash Party, It should be noted that Larry only exists because of an autocorrect error, Kinky sex, LMK if I forgot a tag, Larry died as he lived, Larry is smelly because he'd rather smell than pick out a cleaner shirt, Larry is terminally incurious, Larry isn't stupid because of an intellectual disability tho, Look even though the Asset is horny this is still rape, M/M, Nipple Piercings, Other, Painful Sex, Pet Names, Prisoners! Can't! Consent!, Rimming, Rough Sex, Steve Rogers is Not a Virgin, Steve Rogers' Enormous Pornstar Cock, Subspace, Top Steve Rogers, also there's some timey wimey weirdness here just let me be salty about parler, and because the HTP server decided to breathe life into this dipshit, doing something so stupid that all witnesses were incredulous and disgusted, the first three chapters are mostly laughing at Larry, the last chapter is almost 100 percent Steve blowing Bucky's back out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-13 00:47:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28769568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buckybleeds/pseuds/buckybleeds
Summary: When HYDRA recruits an oblivious, conspiracy-theorist janitor with a big dick and no introspection to help handle the Asset things go pretty badly pretty quickly.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/HTP Collective OC, James "Bucky" Barnes/Hydra Agents, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Trash Larry
Comments: 28
Kudos: 65





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Trash Larry is a collective OC, spawned by @hyperthetical's autocorrect and given life by hyper, @cloudycelebrations, @defilerwyrm, @sneakend, @accrues, @dragongirlG, @ZG, and others. To quote Wyrm: Here's our new communal OC, he's a dumbass piece of shit
> 
> all errors in all chapters are my own.

Okay so the thing about Larry was that Larry was rock fucking stupid.

The other thing about Larry was that in the right light (or, potentially, if you were maybe, say, a delirious supersoldier who’d recently had about fifty thousand volts zapping through your skull) Larry was a dead ringer for Steve Rogers.

He didn’t have the crooked nose, his hair was more strawberry than blonde, and his eyes more green than blue, but he was built like a brick shithouse with milk-pale skin and a chin like the toe of a boot.

They’d been working on recruiting him even before fucking Westfahl let the cat out of the bag, but hadn’t found exactly the right levers to push to make sure it was going to go well, because the  _ other  _ other thing about Larry was that he wasn’t special ops, he wasn’t someone picked up from the outcasts on Parler, he wasn’t anything they could get a solid read on. He was a fucking janitor.

But they needed him, because the other other other thing about big, tall, blonde, trashman Larry was that he was fucking hung.

* * *

So  _ apparently  _ the Soviets had had some kind of rule in place that you couldn’t fuck the Asset. And in the sands of time it’s impossible to know who was right or who was wrong about things like that, but in the DC branch in the 90s HYDRA learned that there were certain drawbacks to fucking the Asset.

You absolutely, positively could not put anything in its mouth; you could under no circumstances fuck it on its back and get between its legs; and if you came to party you’d better be fucking well prepared to ride out the storm. 

See, the thing was, you’d think that the Asset would be like all the other PoW chew toys HYDRA had collected over the years. You’d think that it would be hollow-eyed and hide its face behind its lank hair, fold its metal arm protectively over itself and weep a single, silent, manly tear as it got ridden like a rental.

But no. No, the Asset was fucking horny.

The Asset was horny, the Asset was a cockslut of the highest degree, and, worst of all, the Asset was a size queen.

Fucking the Asset could be  _ amazing  _ but it was also just a tiny bit demoralizing. Or maybe a lot demoralizing. Because you could be the (metaphorical) biggest swinging dick on all the S.T.R.I.K.E. teams, Commander Numero Uno, boss in the field, bossing the S.H.I.E.L.D, and you still had to find (literally) the biggest swinging dick in the building to have a team-building exercise, otherwise someone was probably going to die.

Which was the only thing that explained Westfahl’s continued ability to draw breath in spite of seventeen fuckups that should have ended with a bullet in his head. Since Kevarian got retired, Westfahl was packing the most meat heat on S.T.R.I.K.E. and if they wanted to keep the Asset a happy bitch instead of an attack dog they had to throw it a big fucking bone.

And Westfahl, being Westfahl, kept making himself unavailable. He’d fuck up paperwork and get a writeup and a lecture from Fury that would take all of the limited time between a mission and cryo. He’d be assigned as spotter on a basic-ass hit and would come back in with shrapnel in his thigh. He’d walk into the locker room, hit his head on a locker, and be too concussed to get hard enough to make the Asset happy and they’d have to call the whole thing off unless they wanted to risk losing actually competent commandos to the restless and unsatisfied Winter Soldier.

Thus, Trashman Larry. Or just Trash Larry. Or just Larry. Because even if the dude  _ did  _ smell like trash most of the time, they still wanted him on the team so that they’d have some backup in the big dick department so that in the event of Westfahl was being fucking Westfahl the team didn’t have to suffer from his absence.

* * *

“I think we’re gonna have to move up our timeline on Larry,” Westfahl said. He was a little sweaty and a little pale and wearing just a towel around his waist and this was not what Brock really wanted to be dealing with at this particular juncture.

“We’re working on Larry. If you’re getting chafed consider washing your jock more than once a month.”

Westfahl went a little red with the white of his face. It wasn’t a good look on him like it was with the Asset, a soft blush under fair skin. The Asset looked like Snow White. Westfahl looked like maybe he needed to get checked for a fungus.

“I think we’re gonna have to move up our timeline on Larry because I maybe accidentally told him about the asset?”

Brock let his head bang against his locker. Maybe none of this was worth it. Maybe a better world wasn’t possible if people like this were in it.

“Damnit, Westfahl,” Brock groaned, “what in the name of everloving fuck made that seem like a good idea?”

Westfahl’s blush was getting blotchier and spreading over more of him. It was intensely unappealing. He looked like a melted boysenberry sundae.

“It was - he - Larry was in the showers? And, uh. I saw his dick? Like, I’ve seen his dick, I know why we’re recruiting him, but like, I hadn’t seen it up close? And. Uh. I said the Asset was really gonna like it.”

Maybe they could try fisting the Soldier again. It hadn’t gone well the last time they’d tried to swap out forearms for cocks but that could have been a technique issue; maybe now that Cynthia was a more core part of the crew she could figure out a way to make it work.

“That’s not so bad. We can probably brush that off.”

Westfahl’s skin did some more unappealing color changes, like the ugliest little chameleon. Maybe Brock would write a children’s book about this someday.

“Then Larry asked if that was the Asset whose file he found in the trash.”

Brock had stuffed plenty of nerds in lockers in high school. He wondered if he could stuff himself in his locker and maybe just die cozily in there and never have to deal with Westfahl ever again.

“And what did you tell Larry when he asked that?”

To his credit, Westfahl did at least look like he wanted to slit his own throat instead of making someone else do the dirty work.

“I said, ‘duh.’ And then I got out of the shower. And then I realized what I’d said. And then I came here.”

* * *

Killing Westfahl slowly could wait until after they’d made sure their stunt dick was onboard. Brock stripped down and hoped the use of soap and actual hot water in the showers had done something to blunt Trash Larry’s pungent bouquet.

Brock stepped up next to the big janitor and turned on the water, giving up on his most recent protein treatment and deciding to move up his next trim as he shampooed his hair for the second time in an hour just to have an excuse to talk to Larry. He shouldn’t have bothered with trying to be sneaky.

“I didn’t know S.H.I.E.L.D kept people as Assets. I guess I shoulda figured it out. It makes sense,” Larry said as he halfheartedly scrubbed at his ass.

“Yeah?” Brock said. “Why’s that, bud?”

Larry shrugged. “Makes it easier to know they’re loyal, right? That’s the whole reason for MK Ultra, right? I knew they never shut that down. I shoulda known. Why bother with a flippable operative when you can send in a Manchurian candidate.”

And that was when Brock realized that everything was going to be okay. Because Trash Larry wasn’t just rock fucking stupid and incapable of washing his own ass: Trash Larry was dumber than a box of hammers and had been primed for recruitment by Alex Jones and Art Bell for  _ years  _ before HYDRA had gotten a look inside his jockeys.

Brock leaned a little closer to him, pitching his voice low but making sure it was loud enough to be heard over the showers. “If you want the truth, Larry, that’s why we planted those files for you. S.H.I.E.L.D is rotten to the core, but there’s a group of us on the inside who are working to clean it up. And if you were the wrong kind of guy you’d have gone straight to the top with that file. But it sounds like maybe you’re the right kind of guy. You wanna find out for sure?”

As it turned out, Larry did.

* * *

Brock was giggling into the radio. He was trying not to but it was really hard. “Okay, reverse and do two more donuts that way, then drive down to level three.”

Jack was in the front seat of one of the S.H.I.E.L.D SUVs. Trash Larry was in the back with noise-cancelling headphones over his ears, a bag over his head, and a mission.

Brock had texted Larry the pickup location (the east wing loading bay) in a simple substitution cypher. When Larry had texted back a series of question marks Brock had just slipped an unmarked white envelope under the door to the broom closet with a book of matches and instructions to burn the paper that said “east wing loading bay, 7PM.” He’d waited until he smelled smoke in the hallway, then waited to make sure he didn’t have to use the fire extinguisher in his hand, then had quietly followed Larry out of the building and down to the loading bay, where he talked Jack into doing donuts and figure eights and hard turns in the parking lot for twenty minutes before he had him drive three levels down to the basement of the parking garage. He was waiting there when the SUV shifted into park and he was right beside Jack as they pulled Larry out of the hatchback and frog-marched him to one of the lower level training rooms.

When the bag was pulled off of his head Larry was looking decidedly green.

Jack slapped him heartily on the back and guided him to sit on one of the benches while the rest of the S.T.R.I.K.E. team filed in wearing their tac gear, covered in black from their boots to their helmets, all of their faces hidden behind ballistic goggles and air filtration masks.

Each of them was holding a lit candle. Larry looked like he was going to shit himself.

“Larry,” Brock said, attempting to make his voice deep and somber and certainly not an amused cackle. “There is a terrible secret in the heart of S.H.I.E.L.D. A secret that has been there since the beginning. A secret hardly anybody knows.”

Larry looked around nervously. Like he was wondering if maybe the secret was that S.H.I.E.L.D was full of vampires and they were about to eat him. Or maybe like he could actually smell himself and was wondering if he should have put on some deodorant.

“Do you want to know the secret, Larry?”

Larry nodded.

Brock clapped his hands. Up in the booth Cynthia pressed a button on her Macbook and her hasty afternoon’s worth of photoshop work was projected on the wall. It showed Rogers’ head crudely cut-and-pasted onto a large body in a HYDRA uniform from the war.

“Steve Rogers, Captain America, is and always has been  _ a traitor to America! _ ”

Larry gasped theatrically. Brock bit down on a giggle.

“Yes,” he continued, “I’m afraid it’s true. Steve Rogers was a HYDRA plant meant to poison and torture the  _ real  _ American super soldier, Bucky Barnes!”

Cynthia pressed another button and Barnes’ handsome 1940s face popped up on the Soldier’s modified body with a sepia filter and a paper texture applied to the image.

“No!” Larry said, his eyes like saucers.

“Yes,” Brock responded seriously, his face sculpted into a parody of mourning. “But it gets worse. HYDRA captured Barnes and brainwashed him before the end of the war, making him believe he was Rogers’ best friend.”

“No!” Larry said, and Brock really started to wonder if this guy was stupid enough to be a liability. Oh well. Couldn’t be worse than Westfahl.

“Yes,” Brock intoned, “but it gets worse. HYDRA brainwashed Barnes to fall in love with Rogers, and to rely on close contact with him to keep him stable.”

Larry was straight up crying. He had his hand over his mouth and was nearly sobbing. Patriotism was a hell of a drug.

“But worst of all, they conditioned him to need - it’s hard to say it Larry - sexual contact.”

“The poor bastard,” Larry choked, “the poor helpless bastard!”

“And,” Brock said, gently grasping Larry’s shoulder, “they made him want Rogers’ body. And Rogers’ body was full of superserum. He would fuck the poor guy for hours. And he was. Well. You’ve seen him at S.H.I.E.L.D. You know how big he is. He’s like that all over. And that’s what Barnes was made to crave. He hurt without it, he burned without it. That’s why he went on that suicide mission in the snow and fell off a train trying to save Steve Rogers.”

“He was just a kid, too,” Larry moaned, wiping tears out of his eyes. “It ain’t fair. It ain’t right. And Rogers is just walking around free? In S.H.I.E.L.D?”

“Larry,” Brock whispered, sitting down beside him. “S.H.I.E.L.D is HYDRA. And what’s more - HYDRA is S.H.I.E.L.D.”

Everybody blew their candles out, and Larry gasped in the dark. Brock was glad that it  _ was  _ dark because tears were streaming down his face as he tried to swallow his laughter.

“When HYDRA saw the evil things they had done as Rogers tried to bomb America they remotely disabled the controls to his plane - they thought they’d stopped him. We couldn’t prevent S.H.I.E.L.D from forming with Rogers’ compatriots, but we kept going, underground and in the dark, just in case the world needed us again. And then the worst happened. Rogers was found, and brought back, and he’s trying to take over the world again! With S.H.I.E.L.D!”

Cynthia was slowly bringing the room lights up. Brock was surprised she hadn’t put on some Mozart to soundtrack it.

“But we need help, Larry. HYDRA is small and weak, and we need recruits who care about order, who care about keeping people safe. Everyone hears Rogers talking about standing up to authority but they don’t realize that what he’s really advocating for is anarchy! So we need people like you, Larry.”

Larry was nodding fervently, his eyes shone and his jaw was set.

“But Larry, there’s even more.”

“What else could there be?”

Brock lifted a set of ballistic goggles to his face as Jack did the same. “If you learn this secret, Larry, you’re in forever. You can’t let it out or we’ll have to kill you. It’s vital to national security. You must keep this secret.”

“Of course,” the janitor whispered.

“Swear it.”

“I swear,” he said, his eyes darting around again.

Brock held up a fingerprint scanner and a needle. “You’ve sworn your loyalty. Hold out your arm.”

Larry was the kind of stupid that made sacks of hammers look like Aristotle. He stuck out his arm and Brock jabbed him, then put a drop of blood on the fingerprint scanner.

“We’ve got your DNA now. I’ve just injected a biometrics tracker into your arm. It’s made of nanobots that are dissolving into your blood as we speak. If you ever reveal this secret we will know, and we will terminate you as an enemy of America.”

Larry was shivering, looking scared and appalled too late. Also looking like he was one hundred percent convinced of Brock’s absolute bullshit.

“Say ‘hail HYDRA,’ Larry.”

“H-hail HYDRA.”

A single spotlight snapped on, temporarily blinding everyone named Larry who was the only dumbshit not wearing goggles. The Asset knelt in the pool of light while Larry was still blinking and flinching.

“The final secret, Larry, is that Bucky Barnes is  _ alive _ .”


	2. Chapter 2

Brock could tell that Trash Larry was having a big day.

He’d found out about a government conspiracy, he’d been driven around in a car in a parking lot, he’d showered.

But his reaction to the naked, kneeling Asset was more than Brock ever could have hoped for.

His eyes went big and round like a kid looking at a puppy, his mouth fell open in a soft sigh.

“He’s beautiful,” Larry whispered. “But he doesn’t know he’s beautiful, does he? All brainwashed an’ tortured. Poor thing.”

Brock nodded somberly and sighed sadly. “He doesn’t know much of anything, except the missions we send him on to take down Steve Rogers’ conspiracy. But we haven’t been able to remove the programming they gave him, Larry. And that’s why, more than anything, we need you on our side.”

Larry looked uncertain. It was eerily reminiscent of the look Rogers gave to people he thought were pulling his leg about the way things had changed since the forties.

“Larry. You must know that you look an awful lot like Steve Rogers.”

Larry shrugged, and ducked his head down. “I guess. People say that, I used to kinda like it. Now it makes me feel real bad.”

Brock clapped a heavy hand on the janitor’s arm. “Don’t feel bad, Larry. We can use it. All this time poor Barnes over there has been trying to get out, to follow his programming, to get back to Rogers. It’s been all that we can do to keep him satisfied enough to keep from getting out and getting trapped again. But you, Larry, you can convince him that you’re Steve. You can keep him safe.”

Larry’s eyes had gotten big again. “Commander Rumlow, I don’t know about all that. I mean, Captain Rogers doesn’t sound nothin’ like me, and he’s so strong -”

“Larry,” Brock cut him off. “They didn’t program him to care about how  _ strong  _ Cap is. They programmed him to care about how  _ big  _ Cap is.”

Brock watched until he was certain the words had percolated through Larry’s head and reached at least as far as his brainstem. The light went on in his eyes after about thirty seconds.

“Larry, are you ready to serve your country in the best way you know how?”

The man may have been rock fucking stupid, but the mean grin on his face was reassuring. He knew a good thing when he saw it.

* * *

The lights were up and the S.T.R.I.K.E. team was divesting themselves of unnecessary gear in a loose circle around the Asset while Brock told Larry the way this would go.

“He’s used to a supersoldier using him, so it takes all of us to make him satisfied. And sometimes we have to be really rough with him to make it take.” He gave the Asset its hand signal to drop its chest to the floor and stick its ass in the air. It glared at him but complied, eyeing Brock and Larry suspiciously. Westfahl came to stand next to them, wearing a remarkably terrible blonde wig.

“We’ve been making do with Westfahl pretending to be Steve but the ruse is wearing thin,” like hell it was. The Asset didn’t give half a shit about Steve Rogers, not enough of its brain made it through the blender, but it did like a big piece of meat. “Westfahl, show it what it wants. Larry, watch Barnes, see how he reacts when he thinks it’s Steve.”

Vasquez was fingering lube into the Asset’s hole and it was impatiently tolerating the contact until Westfahl dropped trou. Westfahl wasn’t a big man but he was carrying a lot of baggage in the front, his soft cock was already long and thick, and it got fatter as it stiffened up.

The Asset had stopped glaring at the group like they’d shit on its dinnerplate and was starting to look like it wanted to eat them up.

“It’s strong, so you have to be careful how you use it, it doesn’t know any better than to go hard when someone’s fucking it. You’ve gotta let it see what it wants, then make sure it knows to wait for everyone else to have a turn before it gets its treat.”

Larry was nodding, his mouth was open and his eyes were shining. There was a noticeable tent in the front of his work jumpsuit.

“Either you or Westfahl, you go last. It likes to be messy, it likes to have it rough. No condoms with the Asset and as little lube as you can stand, it’ll be wet enough by the time it gets to you. Larry. Show the Asset what you have for it.”

It wasn’t fair. Larry was an idiot and a janitor and had the situational awareness of a three year old with a lollipop, but he had a body like a god and a face carved from marble. His dick was actually the least impressive thing about him, but it was longer than Westfahl’s and almost as thick. The Asset bared its teeth and arched its back as Rollins slipped into it. It reached its arms out in front of it, stretching like a cat and licking its chops as it stared at Westfahl and Larry.

“Good,” Brock said. “Only use it on its knees, don’t put anything in its mouth, don’t get between its legs, and always go in with a minimum of five people as backup. You’ve got to make it happy or it’s dangerous, and if it kills you it might get away and run back to Rogers. Do you think you can remember that, Larry?” Brock, personally, had his doubts.

“I sure am gonna try.”

Good enough.

* * *

Except for the finishers everyone drew lots for what their order was with the asset. Brock had pulled third this time around, so it was slick and hot and a little bit open but not so messy that it made him queasy. He slammed into it as hard as he could and it felt good, it felt tight around him, but it also felt maddening that the fucking thing barely moved. He was putting his whole back into it, and for all the Soldier cared it might as well have been napping.

Oh well.

He could try harder next time.

The Asset was a whole barrel of contradictions. It would be as sweet as a pussycat when it came around to Westfahl but it would snarl at everyone smaller than Rollins. It was great to ride, but frustrating as all hell. It was both banal and tempting, ambrosia and rotten milk. It was a monster, an angel, and Brock wanted it bleeding on his cock more than he wanted to see the next day sometimes.

Westfahl, or now Larry, would have to do as a surrogate dick.

They decided to let Westfahl finish it out, have him talk Larry through his first rodeo in case the Asset didn’t get taken care of properly. You couldn’t let it end up unsatisfied, that was how people died. So they guided Larry to his knees and watched him lift that heavy pink cock to the Asset’s messy hole.

He shoved in hard, as instructed, and the Asset’s eyes rolled back in its head.

Winner winner, chicken dinner.

Larry was a good pairing for it. He was just a bit taller than the asset, broad and well muscled, but he also had a whiplash ease to his motion that might have come from years of physical training or might have come from the physicality of scrubbing up puke from the cafeteria floor. Wherever it came from he had a snap to his hip and a sense of rhythm that had the Asset whining and backing its ass up to get more.

“Harder, champ,” Brock said, caught in between which of them to admire. Larry was an idiot but he did look like Rogers and Rogers looked like sex on the hoof. Larry snapped his hips harder and Brock saw the Soldier’s cock slowly dripping clear fluid as its face got pinker and its eyes got glazed. “You gotta be rougher with it, son, make it happy, it wants to come on your cock.”

Larry huffed out a breath and pumped his ass faster, the slapping sound of their contact getting louder in the training room. The Asset was drooling, delighted, until Larry suddenly stiffened and came, holding the Soldier’s hips still while he went off inside of it.

Oh well. Goodbye, Larry.

Brock was unholstering his weapon and Westfahl was getting ready to wade into the fray when the Soldier turned to glare at Larry. Larry was stunning, panting and gleaming with sweat as his cock twitched inside of it. It started to turn, furious, when a miracle happened.

Larry reached out, as casual as could be, and slapped the Asset’s face. As Brock was accepting that he would die alongside this idiot office cleaner, Larry pulled his hips back and shoved two fingers in alongside his cock, dragging the Asset wider open than before and digging his thumb into his perineum. “Don’t get bossy, baby. Be good,” he panted, and drove his hips forward once more, and then the Asset was whining through his teeth and coming so hard that Brock could hear the spatter of its come slapping against the training mat.

Hello, Larry. Who would have thought? The dumbass was a natural.

* * *

After two months it was clear that Trash Larry and the Asset were a match made in heaven.

Nobody had to rely on Westfahl anymore, which had the weird side effect of making Westfahl more competent; the Soldier hadn’t killed  _ anyone  _ other than an assigned target - not a tech, not a bystander - in weeks; the Asset was even remembering Larry between ‘reinforcement sessions’ and would behave if he was just in the room with the vague promise of putting a dick in the thing’s hungry cunt.

It was the most relaxing two months of Brock’s career.

There were some bumps in the road, of course. Larry had a little trouble finding his legs within S.T.R.I.K.E.; he was a hopelessly terrible shot and couldn’t be trusted in the field.

He. Well. Nobody really knew where the smell was coming from now that his job didn’t involve picking up trash all the time.

Then there was the issue with his transfer.

Brock had called Larry into his office to make it official - the janitor was getting a promotion from S.H.I.E.L.D general staff to S.T.R.I.K.E. Alpha Team support and Brock, being Commander Numero Uno, had to do the paperwork.

“So is it Lawrence or Larry?” he asked, his hands poised over his keyboard.

“Is what Lawrence or Larry?” Nobody could accuse Brock of snatching up the best and the brightest.

“Your first name. For the paperwork.”

“Oh. No. My first name is Brian.”

Brock hummed and typed. “Okay so is Lawrence your middle name?”

“No, it’s Robert.”

Brock leaned around his monitor to glare. It was likely that Larry was too stupid to be fucking with him but you never know. “Okay, so where does ‘Larry’ come from?”

“It’s a nickname.”

“For what?”

“For Lawrence.” Larry looked confused by the whole conversation. It seemed like that was basically his default setting. Brock hadn’t yet figured out if he really was a half-thawed clone of Rogers that got broken in the microwave but that’s what it felt like sometimes.

“Hand me your driver’s licence, Brian Robert.”

It turned out his last name was Larson. Brock finished typing, handed Larry his license back, and went to reconsider his life choices.

* * *

The snuggling started as a joke.

Kind of.

Really it started because Brock wanted to jack off to the image of a miserable-looking Bucky Barnes getting held down by Steve Rogers and the best way to get the Asset to look miserable was to deny it cock.

So they’d convinced Trash Larry to hold onto the Asset, tuck it close to his chest, and make sure not to put his dick in its ass.

And it had been kind of funny for a minute. The Asset laid on its side and glared into the middle distance, Trash Larry looked at it with patriotic enthusiasm and a raging hardon. Brock gave up on adding a nice picture to his spank bank. Everyone settled down and got ready to crash out for the last time before the mission, and then the Asset decided that it was fucking done.

It made an awful, nearly subsonic, growling noise then shoved Larry on his back, ripped the front of his pants (and the smelly front of his underpants) open, spit a huge glob of saliva on his cock, then sat down and started riding like it was trying to make it to the rodeo.

It happened too suddenly for anyone to even think about subduing the Asset and then everyone had to obey the cardinal rule: do not get between the Asset and its goal.

And, like most fools and children, God was watching out for Larry. The Asset slammed itself open on his cock and pounded its prostate until it came all over Larry’s stomach. Then it did a weird, acrobatic stretch-and-twist, got itself turned around without letting Larry take back his cock, and snuggled into getting spooned with the thick shaft still buried in its ass.

Nobody except the Asset actually slept that night. The next day the Asset was poetry in motion in the field and forcibly dragged a terrified Murphy into what was apparently a uniquely ecstatic and bone-chilling blowjob during team-building after the mission.

It turned out if you let the Asset warm a cock for a few hours that made it even more dick-hungry, so suddenly the Asset was sleeping stuffed full and S.T.R.I.K.E. Alpha had an extra hole to play with.

Trash Larry continued to toddle on with the kind of luck that made him seem genuinely magical.

* * *

Of course, nothing gold can stay.

As the Triskelion collapsed around and on top of Brock he remembered Larry happily settling down to wait in the vault while the rest of S.T.R.I.K.E. Alpha went on this doomed mission.

The Asset was off its leash, probably everyone else on the team was dead, Brock was running up a set of collapsing stairs and it was getting awful hot, and that sexy, stinky, big-dicked idiot was safe and happy and far away from here.

It wasn’t fucking fair.


	3. Chapter 3

Larry wasn’t the smartest man in the world, anyone could tell you that, but he knew which way the wind was blowing. After a day and night waiting for a check-in from anyone else on his S.T.R.I.K.E. team he knew that nobody was coming. He was pretty sure, anyway. Not even Bucky Barnes, who maybe had finally died his hero’s death protecting America from evil.

Larry waited until he was pretty sure that it was dark, then emerged from the bank vault onto a fully sunlit street, already plotting how he was going to continue HYDRA’s mission to protect America.

* * *

He knew he’d have to go underground, cut his connections so that the higher-ups at S.H.I.E.L.D wouldn’t track him down after their false documents implicated HYDRA for its role in trying to save the world. S.H.I.E.L.D and Steve Rogers were devious foes.

When Larry filled out his application for night janitor work at the Smithsonian he knew that he had to leave Larry behind. He thought of Commander Rumlow, bowed his head, and wrote “Sonny” in the “First Name” field.

* * *

It was hard getting references when all of your previous managers had died in a fiery building collapse. Luckily Sonny had memorized all of their phone numbers, and nobody followed up on references for this shit anyway. He wrote “Jack Rollins” in the first box and wiped a tear away before moving down a line and writing “Maria Hill” in the next. Traitor to America or not, she had written him a letter of recommendation after his third time repairing the damage that Tony Stark had done to the cafeteria.

* * *

It took three rounds of interviews, five weeks, and a lot of sleepless nights but Sonny did it. He was in.

He'd secured the job as the night shift lead cleaner at the Smithsonian Air And Space Museum. Now nothing could stop him.

* * *

About a month into his stint at the Smithsonian Larry was back to being Larry. He'd tried to introduce himself as Sonny, but he didn't like the Cher jokes (she was indoctrinating the youth) and he kept forgetting that he wasn't supposed to be Larry anymore. His cover was blown, and he was up shit creek with no paddle and no backup. He had no choice but to lay low until the heat was off.

After two years he figured it was probably safe to get his head back in the game. Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanov, and a rogue's gallery of other nefarious actors had conned the American people into ignoring the truth, and Larry was uniquely poised to show them the light.

He made his first move brazen - the Twitter account @CaptainAmeriCON went live on a Sunday afternoon and immediately gained three followers. The game was afoot.

He kept a low profile, making his tweets in the dead of night and turning off his location most of the time. He struck fast and hard, getting right to the point.

"Steven GAY Rogers was a S.H.I.E.L.D plant to destroy America."

"Bucky Barnes: Real American Hero. Steve Rogers: Histories biggest zer0"

"Wake up, sheeple, do your own research" - he was proud of that one. Larry had managed to hack into an old groupchat he'd downloaded to his last phone and download the photo of Rogers in a HYDRA uniform before Stark could make his SIM card self-destruct.

At that point Larry had a very respectable following of nearly a hundred people. He was gaining influence, soon he'd be too big for the corporate shills and the S.H.I.E.L.D elites to bury the story.

The Plan came to him like a bolt out of the blue. Larry knew sacrifices would have to be made, but it was worth it.

First he invested all of his savings into bitcoin. Then he had to give up his weed and Malibu budget for a couple months to rebuild his savings after a wobble in the market netted him some negative returns. Finally, after six months of tweeting, four of those saving every spare penny that didn't go to his dealer, and nearly three years of careful planning, Larry had a Screen Accurate Avenging Heroes Patriotic Soldier Cowl And Suit For Party Holiday Bedroom Uniform, and at least some idea of how to use it.

* * *

The memes were slow to take off. It was hard to get some of the shots he wanted set up, and a lot of people didn’t take them seriously, they thought it was a joke.

A picture of Captain America stealing candy from a baby, a video of Captain America not washing his hands after using the bathroom, a photo of Captain America smoking weed. Things didn’t really take off until he posted the Captain America Dick Pic and got #CaptainAmeriCock trending.

After that he gained an influx of followers. And sure, a lot of them were there to laugh at the photos or thirst over Larry, but plenty of them stuck around to read the tweets in between the memes. Some even clicked over to Larry’s blog, where he posted the  _ real  _ photos that Agent Mercer had recovered from old S.H.I.E.L.D data - the ones of Rogers in his HYDRA regalia - and where he wrote about why the world needed to save Bucky Barnes. Why the world needed the order that S.H.I.E.L.D wanted to destroy.

Then, his big break came.

Tony Stark called him.

* * *

“Larry, hi, can I call you Larry? Or do you want to go by handles and you can be Captain AmeriCock and I can be Iron Man and we can plot against Cap, or do you want to do real names and we can talk turkey because I need you to show up to my Fourth of July party, it is absolutely imperative that you be there, so please, please tell me what I need to do to have you show up. Is this a booking thing? Do you have rates? I can pay rates. Whatever you need.”

Larry was confused. Tony Stark talked really, really fast.

“Will Bucky Barnes be there?” he asked, hoping to buy some time to flesh out a plan a little more. It wasn’t often that Lady Destiny fell in your lap, and if you weren’t ready for her things could get a little squished.

“I believe that it is possible that tall, dark, and grumpy will put in an appearance at his boyfriend’s birthday party, yes, but let’s be real he doesn’t tell anyone his plans and he’d probably kill me for causing a security breach if I confirmed or denied his presence but let’s go with ‘sure.’ Does that help?”

Larry thought fast. “I guess that depends on whose side you’re on, Mister Stark.”

“I am on whatever side annoys Steve the most. You seem to be very into annoying Steve. We are kindred spirits.”

It was almost too good to be true - Larry hadn’t realized that there was such a deep rift in the Avengers. He was almost certain that he could exploit this and maybe unmask Steve Rogers once and for all.

“I just want people to know what he’s really like, sir. And to keep Bucky safe. He deserves it after all that he’s been through.”

Stark snorted. Larry belatedly remembered that Stark’s parents had been part of the evil of S.H.I.E.L.D and had been taken out by the Winter Soldier in an act of divine retribution when he was stable and away from Rogers’ influence. It suddenly occurred to Larry that this could be a trap.

“Bucky Bear is more than capable of taking care of himself these days.”

It was definitely a trap. Stark was trying to lure Larry right into his stronghold to silence him - Stark was aligned with Rogers, helping to keep Bucky hostage. Larry wanted to cry. He’d failed. He hadn’t been doing anywhere near enough to keep the Asset safe and as a result he’d been trapped and tortured by these monsters for years while Larry polished floors in DC. He was a failure, a blight on HYDRA’s good name.

Now was the time that he could make up for it.

“I’ll be there, Mister Stark.”

* * *

It was hot on the sunlit terrace of Stark Tower in the late afternoon on July 4th. Larry should have expected it, and doubled down on deodorant or maybe worn a cleaner undershirt, considering that he knew he’d be in leather and armor for most of the day.

The leather and armor had been a good choice. Their bulk hid the gun in his thigh pocket, something he hadn’t expected to worry about when he’d gotten to the lobby of the building and had to check in with security. He’d gotten weird looks, being a Captain America impersonator dressed like Captain America on Captain America’s birthday in the building where Captain America lived, but the spider had spun his web well - Tony Stark had made sure Larry’s name was on file with security. After all, they couldn’t close their net around him if they didn’t let him into the net in the first place.

But it was hot. And so far he’d seen no sign of Steve Rogers or Tony Stark or even Bucky Barnes. The sun was slowly sinking in the sky, scattered fireworks were being lit off across the city, and all that Larry could do was wait for his foes to spring their trap so that he could spring his countertrap.

The terrace was filling up but Larry stayed where he’d been directed, behind a large potted plant that hid him from view. He heard footsteps approaching, and a voice saying a lot of words in a little time.

“Look, Steve, we all know that your favorite thing to do is hate yourself. You hate parties about you, you hate movies about you, you hate books about you, you hate songs about you, you hate your action figures. You always try to hide away before we even cut the cake and this year I wanted you to hang around long enough to see the truly magnificent drone fireworks display I’ve set up to show your seventy-foot-tall face to the city, so I’ve given you the ultimate gift: I’ve brought out the personification of your self-loathing.”

“Tony,” a low voice said, sounding tense and upset. A chill raced up Larry’s spine. That was Rogers.

“Look at it this way, we’ll have a few laughs, we’ll take a few pictures, and if you want to bail early we’ve got a body double here to make nice with the crowds while you go get some one-on-one celebrating done with the terminator there.”

Larry swore he could feel his heart stop.

Body doubles.

S.H.I.E.L.D and HYDRA programmed people. Larry looked an awful lot like Steve Rogers. Stark had called him here and asked for him personally.

Larry was a Manchurian Candidate body double for Steve Rogers, and tonight they were activating him.

“Tony, you know that makes me feel weird, just send the guy home -”

“I dunno, pal, I can think of a couple things I’d like to do with two of you.”

Larry’s heart clenched. Barnes. Barnes, that’s why he was here. Barnes was so deep in his programming that he was asking for more control, more of his handler. Larry reached into his thigh pocket and wrapped his hand around the grip of his pistol. For Bucky.

“Besides, I thought you wanted to have some words with Captain Dick Pic,” Stark sneered, just as they finally walked into Larry’s line of sight.

Rogers had a frown on his face and was about to reply to Stark when Bucky broke in with a huge grin and an incredulous laugh. “What is Captain Dick Pic and why have I not shaken his hand yet?” He asked, and that’s when Larry broke from his cover.

“Aaaaahhhhhh, get away from him,” Larry roared, as he charged at Rogers with his revolver in his hand. Stark looked on in confusion while Rogers clotheslined Larry and Bucky neatly plucked the gun out of his hand. Suddenly the Asset was sitting on his chest and Larry was remembering all the times that Rumlow had warned him how dangerous it was to get between the Soldier’s legs.

Panicked people were running off the terrace and it was suddenly very quiet as Rogers, Stark, and Barnes were the only ones who stayed to take down Larry. He was an idiot, a fool. He’d thought they would never dare to activate him around witnesses, but now there were no witnesses.

“I tried, Bucky, I tried to save you, I’m sorry.”

Bucky was smiling at Tony. He looked healthy and frightening. “Did you get Steve an assassin for his birthday, Tony? That’s really more of a present for me than for him, but I’m not gonna turn it down.”

The final pieces of Stark’s armor were clanking in place around him. “No,” the Iron Man suit projected, “I really just wanted to troll Steve with Captain AmeriCock. This was not the kind of gun I was expecting to be dealing with this afternoon.”

Bucky peeled off Larry’s cowl and a deep line formed between his brows.

“Tony, why does your accidental assassin look familiar?”

“Off the top of my head, probably because he professionally impersonates your boytoy.”

Bucky shook his head and his frown got deeper. “No. He looks nothing like Steve. But I know him.”

“We tried to help you, Bucky. We always wanted to keep you safe,” Larry wheezed from under the weight of the Winter Soldier on his solar plexus. 

The Soldier slapped him across the face with his metal hand. “Can it, carrots,” he growled, then stood and placed a boot on Larry’s shoulder. “Tony, you keep making dick jokes. What are you talking about?”

Rogers groaned. “A few months ago some dipshit Captain America impersonator got ‘Captain AmeriCock’ trending on Twitter by posting a selfie with his dick out. We were mopping up after the eruption in Indonesia, and it had mostly blown over by the time we got back. Tony, apparently, found the whole thing hilarious.”

“It  _ was  _ hilarious,” the Iron Man suit protested.

“And Tony, apparently, didn’t read all of the briefing on that, because then he might have known that Captain AmeriCock is a conspiracy theorist who is obsessed with the idea that I was a secret HYDRA agent all along who programmed you to believe that you were in love with me and that I am undermining the American government while still keeping you prisoner.” Rogers had a hell of a glare on him. Larry was honestly a little surprised that it wasn’t melting the colors off of Stark’s armor. 

“That. That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” Bucky said, and Larry sobbed. Maybe it was kinder to let him believe. Maybe he was happier as a prisoner than he would be free. “But I think it’s maybe not the first time I’ve heard it. Jarvis, could you bring up the Captain AmeriCock photo?”

A large, full color photo of Larry in the suit with his hand wrapped around the shaft and showing off its girth was projected into the air. Bucky took a step closer to examine it. His foot came off of Larry’s chest. Larry, very slowly and very quietly, stood up.

“See, Robocop? You see why this is hilarious, right? C’mon. I’m gonna get months of material taunting Steve about his pornstar counterpart.” Stark was jabbering away and Rogers had a hand over his eyes. Bucky leaned closer to the photo. Larry shifted his weight.

“Why would you tease Steve about that? He’s way bigger,” Bucky said, making Stark sputter. Bucky had made a pinch-and-zoom motion at the air. Larry’s cock loomed larger over the quiet terrace. “I know this dick.”

“What?” Rogers asked, his voice low and hard. 

“I know this dick. I’ve fucked this dick. He wasn’t with them long, just a couple months at the end,” Bucky whirled around and snatched the harness of Larry’s costume, dragging him closer. He buried his nose in the crook of Larry’s neck and took a deep sniff before releasing his hold and stepping back with a disgusted look on his face. “Of all the fucking HYDRA goons who could have survived it had to be the one who can’t tell his ass from a hole in the ground, or how to wash it. How ya been, Trash Larry?”

The air was very hot. It was hazy up here. Uncomfortable. Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, and Iron Man were all looking very intently at him.

“I just wanted to take care of you, keep you safe. From him.” He swallowed. He was glad the helmet was gone. It was good to feel the wind through his hair. He shuffled his feet.

“You were in the fucking vault,” Bucky growled, “you saw them fucking wipe me.”

Larry shook his head. “You weren’t stable, sweetheart, we shouldn’t have sent you after him, we should have known the programming would be too much, that you’d need to go back to him. That was on us. That’s our fault. It’s okay, I’m here now, I can keep you safe.”

“Larry,” Bucky said, putting his hands on his hips, “why do I get the feeling that you’re about to do something incredibly stupid?”

Larry reached out a hand. “It’ll be okay, Asset. Come with me. Sputnik.”

The Soldier was coming toward him, and Larry opened his arms only to realize that Iron Man was between them, forcibly holding Bucky back from rejoining Larry and the freedom that he offered.

“Fuck you, Stark, there are  _ no  _ witnesses up here, we can  _ erase  _ the video, this little HYDRA  _ fuck  _ just dropped a trigger word and I wanna  _ peel him open _ and see if he’s got any more inside,” the Asset was struggling and spitting mad and it broke Larry’s heart. They’d managed to crack the last of the Soldier’s defensive programming. Bucky Barnes, and the hero that he should have been, was lost. 

“You bastards,” Larry hissed, turning on Rogers with his hands clenched into fists. “You couldn’t bear the thought that he might be his own person, secure and safe and orderly, ever again, could you? You had to take everything away from him.”

“Larry,” Rogers said, his jaw clenched and his body stiff, like he was holding himself still, “you seem like a sincere young man. And one who genuinely cares about Bucky. If you would like to talk to him, instead of trying to  _ mind wipe him in his own home _ , maybe that could be arranged.” The supersoldier looked like he was chewing glass. He thought he was so noble.

“No,” Larry said, firming his own sharp jaw. “The time for talking is done. But maybe there is one last way that I can help him be free of you.”

And with that, Larry charged.


	4. Chapter 4

Steve was always beautiful, but that was never more true than when he was in motion. Bucky’s heart leapt into his throat as the HYDRA operative ran at Steve, and his breath caught in his chest at the smooth, graceful duck of Steve’s shoulder and the light lift of his arms that tumbled Trash Larry over the terrace handrail. Steve wasn’t even breathing hard, though his eyes were bright and furious.

Bucky strode to the edge of the building. The fact that he hadn’t heard a splat yet indicated that perhaps the job wasn’t done.

Trash Larry was clinging to the rounded steel of the building. His knuckles were turning white and his eyes were wide with fear, though a touch of joy graced his features when Bucky leaned into his line of sight.

“I want you to know that I forgive you, Soldier. You always made me the best version of myself.” His voice was wavery with tears and rang with sincerity. It was revolting.

Bucky leaned his elbows on the handrail, crossing his arms at the wrist and watching Trash Larry’s grip slip a millimeter at a time.

“And I want you to know, Larry, that to me you were never the best of anything. You were always just a disappointing version of him,” Bucky said, cocking his metal thumb at Steve as he joined them at the glass.

“We should probably pull him back up,” Steve said, eyeing the struggling man in a cheap copy of his suit. The whole of him was a cheap copy of Steve, from his dedication to the world’s stupidest cause to his over-gelled hair to his misdirected, possessive desire to own Bucky.

Nobody in the world owned Bucky like Steve did.

“I’d rather die,” Larry growled as Steve reached for his hand. They waited a beat, and nothing happened. 

Steve reached again.

“Never!” shouted Larry, as he continued to cling to the building. 

Bucky drummed his hand on the railing impatiently. A bird flew by. “You know, generally when someone says ‘I’d rather die’ as their mortal enemy attempts to save them they. You know. Die. Let go of the rope, swallow the poison, take the shot. Whatever. You need some help with that?”

“You’ll never take me alive!”

Steve looked like he was having a lot of trouble keeping his face stern and angry instead of laughing out loud. Bucky rolled his eyes and reached down himself. Trash Larry’s face lit up in a stunned smile and then he reached out for Bucky’s hand.

Which was a remarkably stupid thing to do, as it meant that he let go of the building. 

Bucky had really good vision. He watched Larry’s face all the way down. It took him at least twenty floors to realize the mistake he’d made. 

When Bucky stood up and turned around Steve was yelling at Stark.

“- if you could at least do the basic due diligence to not let any rapist HYDRA footsoldiers in the building.”

“Okay, point taken, Spangles, but it looks like you two had it well under control,” Tony said. He was hovering about ten feet off the ground to stay out of Steve’s reach. Bucky smiled. If Tony thought ten feet was too far for Steve to jump when he was pissed Tony was sorely mistaken.

“But we shouldn’t have had to have it under control, we shouldn’t have had to deal with it at all, and fighting with someone who abused my husband and kept him imprisoned isn’t exactly a great birthday present, Tony.”

Bucky wasn’t sure how Tony managed to make the suit convey chagrin, given that its face didn’t move, but that also wasn’t something he wanted to interrogate now. He tried to make himself look pathetic and traumatized as he wrapped himself around Steve. “I want to go home,” he said, in the smallest, saddest voice he could fake.

Steve squeezed him hard enough to hurt. “Thank you for a lovely party, Tony,” he ground out, then guided Bucky inside and to the elevator with a scowl on his face.

When the doors slid shut Bucky grinned and bumped his shoulder into Steve’s. “C’mon. Don’t pretend this isn’t the most fun you’ve ever had at one of Tony’s parties.”

“A man died, Buck,” Steve said. His face projected tragedy but there was a twinkle in his eye. “And if Jarvis hadn’t activated the emergency protocol and cleared the sidewalk a lot more people could have been hurt.”

Steve was able to keep his attitude of somber contemplation in place until the door of the apartment closed behind them. Then he was picking Bucky up and slamming him bodily into the door while his sharp, white teeth dug into Bucky's neck and a deep growl clawed its way out of his chest. 

Bucky laughed and let Steve keep his shoulders pinned as he wrapped his legs around Steve's waist.

"You don't like to share, sweetheart?" Bucky purred into Steve's ear as thick fingers threaded their way into his hair. 

The hand made a fist that yanked Bucky's head to the side as those sharp teeth bit their way up his neck. 

"No," Steve said, and then he tore Bucky's shirt open. His clever fingers tickled through Bucky's chest hair to clamp down on his left nipple and the gold hoop that went through it. 

Bucky whined and squirmed and pushed his chest harder into Steve's hand, relieving some pressure while demanding more attention. 

"You need your tits played with, baby?" Steve murmured, twisting harder at the ring. It hurt, it felt awful. It felt wonderful. As soon as he'd remembered the one he had before the war - big-knuckled hands on skinny wrists steady and sure as they pushed silver through his skin - Bucky wanted another, and he wanted Steve to do it, and he wanted it to hurt. 

Nobody in the world owned Bucky Barnes like Steve Rogers did. 

It used to be a game for them. Bucky would go out, get himself used hard. He'd come home to Steve messy with it, wet with what a slut he was. Then Steve would fuck into him with his ludicrously disproportionate cock and push all the memories of the rest out of his head the way that his fat prick pushed all their come out of his hole. 

Steve  _ did _ like to share. He just liked Bucky to come home to him, to forget all the rest, to get fucked stupid then cuddle on his cock until it softened and slipped loose. Steve would hold him down to the bed, after, and stuff him full of fingers and water and cloth. He'd leave Bucky clean and pure and floating while Steve crawled into his arms and fell asleep with Bucky wrapped around him like a shawl. 

That had hurt them both, when he was coming back to himself. He hadn't come home when he was supposed to. Steve hadn't been able to take care of him.

They'd found the time to make it up to each other. 

Like now. 

"I hate all of them," Steve rasped as he pulled Bucky down from the wall they'd been pressed against and threw him over the back of the couch. A big hand landed on his back and held his shoulders down while the other hand busied itself opening his pants and shoving them down his thighs. 

Bucky very helpfully wiggled his ass and stood on his tiptoes. "I know, sweetheart. Get him out of me, honey. Fuck me clean."

Steve whined and pressed his thumbs into Bucky's cheeks, pulling them apart so that he could feel air moving over his wet hole, still drippy from their earlier endeavors. Steve teased at the mess and rubbed it back into Bucky with his thumb before groping Bucky's cheeks again. "You open enough for me, babydoll? I'm not gonna hurt you, am I?"

Bucky rocked his ass back against the covered heat of Steve's cock. "Not in any way that I don't like."

Steve's hands grabbed harder as his hips rocked forward. Bucky bit his lip and moaned at the rough handling, envisioning the pretty starbursts of bruises that would make, fireworks in purple and blue. 

Steve let go with one hand to open his jeans. As soon as he freed his cock he wrapped a hand around the shaft and dragged the head over Bucky's hole, gathering the fluid that was leaking out of him again and letting it slick him up. 

"Such a pretty cunt for me, sugar. So sweet when you're wet for me. You like being my pretty slut, Buck?"

"Steve," he moaned, trying to lift his ass higher and arch his back more, "Steve, please."

"Tell me how much you like to be my pretty slut with a dripping pussy first."

Bucky's ass wasn't the only thing dripping. He felt a drop of liquid heat run out of him and soak into the fabric of the couch. "Steve," he whimpered, rocking his hips back in vain. 

Steve was holding him down with a rock solid grip in one hand while the other guided the fat, hot head of his cock back and forth over Bucky's hole. He'd pause and pretend like he was going to press in then let himself glide right past it, rubbing up and down but never fucking in. 

"Steve," Bucky whined, writhing to try to get him to just move a little bit inside of him. Everything would be right when Steve was inside of him. 

"You too fuck-dumb already to tell me what you like, sugar?" 

Bucky nodded and mewled.

"You want me to stop asking questions and just let you be my sweet little fuckdoll?"

Bucky sobbed and Steve apparently decided he was tired of drawing out his litany of sugar-sharp dirty talk. 

Steve's cock was a size that might be most reasonably described as "challenging." It had been a blessing and a curse when he was tiny, notable enough that rumors got started but big enough that it scared off even the kinds of gals who would spread those kinds of rumors. 

Steve had never much cared about scaring off the gals, and anyway the rumors all got started when he and Bucky realized that sucking each other off was a better afternoon pastime than a matinee, and cheaper too. Bucky couldn't bring himself to feel bad about spreading the legend of little Stevie Rogers and his big bull dick. He maintained that anyone'd brag about it if they learned to swallow a cobra.

But somehow it managed to be impossible to remember and impossible to forget. 

Bucky had spent seventy years with HYDRA sitting on dicks like he was searching for Cinderella and coming up empty. Now that he'd found what he was looking for it was still a surprise every time, and still took his breath away. 

Steve moved in slow, the head just kissing Bucky's entrance to start, then finding the right angle to lodge itself into him and inexorably pushing deeper. 

It felt like getting opened up on a ship's prow. The weight and inevitability of it had a gravitas that was more than human. Also it was fucking huge.

It ached as Steve entered him, but Bucky hadn't lied. The pain was like sore muscles the day after a hard workout, something to prod at and wonder over, something he'd earned. And it didn't last - Bucky's body knew the shape of Steve, and the initial strain of a hard stretch always quickly faded into the feeling of being complete, of being home.

Steve groaned as his hips came to rest against Bucky’s ass and Bucky flexed his body around the thick shaft filling him. They both breathed into the simple joy of being as close as they possibly could for a moment, then Steve moved.

He could be slow going in, but once Steve was riled up he fucked mean. His hands landed on Bucky’s waist and held him still as Steve backed out then rolled in hard, rocking Bucky into the couch and pushing the air out of him with the force of the thrust. 

“Baby,” Steve moaned, and ground up into Bucky as deep as he could get. “Always so tight on me, baby, so good for me.”

Bucky was bent over the back of the couch with his face pressed into the cushions, he could feel a wet spot growing under his cock as it was roughly moved over the upholstery. He wanted more touch, more stroking, more Steve, so he got his elbows under his chest and used the leverage that gained him to slip an inch off of Steve before slamming back hard. The new position also got his cock some clearance from the cushions and he tried to worm his left hand into the open space to get a grip around himself.

Steve caught on to his plan before it could get very far. He growled and batted Bucky’s arm out of the way to put his own hand on Bucky’s cock - which incidentally meant that Bucky’s  _ real  _ plan had worked perfectly. Steve squeezed hard enough to hurt and Bucky happily dropped his face back to the rough fabric of the couch, going boneless.

“Love you, honey, love your cock, love you in me please, Steve, please, more,” Bucky slurred, and Steve obliged, making his calloused hand into a tight tunnel that he shoved Bucky into with the hand on his hip before dragging him back as hard as he could onto his cock. 

Steve fell into a rough rhythm that left Bucky feeling like a particularly blessed fleshlight; every motion bullied its way through Bucky to push his cock into Steve’s grip. He was helpless and open and completely subject to Steve’s will and desires. He was a ragdoll, a toy, taking what he was given and incapable of even asking for more.

Time turned to taffy and Bucky melted with it as everything but the fat shaft pumping into him and the hard hand around him became meaningless and distant. Eventually he felt a hand in his hair, dragging him up until his back was pressed against Steve’s heaving chest and sharp teeth buried themselves in his neck while the precome-soaked hand around his cock twisted over the head with just the right mix of cruelty and kindness. The world went gray as fireworks exploded, and Bucky couldn’t tell whether that was the force of his mind-shattering orgasm or if the show outside had finally started.

He sagged against Steve, held in place by the hand in his hair and the cock in his ass, and was rocked on his already shaky legs by the shallow, forceful thrusts of Steve fucking into Bucky’s limp body with the brutal strength of his long, thick thighs. 

Steve was hissing loving filth into Bucky’s ear when he came, calling him pretty, calling him a whore, calling him  _ his  _ whore, telling him they’d have to bury them together because Steve was never letting him go again.

It was a sunrise; it was an explosion. 

It was Steve’s face seventy feet tall and hovering outside the wall of windows that broke into the afterglow for Bucky, and got him giggling while Steve was still too come-drunk to tell up from down. 

“It’s official, sweetheart. Tony is in charge of your birthday party every year.”

“Muh?” Steve said, visibly trying to bring his brain back online. Bucky could feel it when he caught sight of the drone display outside of their apartment. He went still and Bucky could practically hear the frown crystallizing on his face as he took in Tony’s tribute.

There must have been a couple of thousand drones between the skyscrapers, all with brilliantly programmed, flawlessly synchronized drones that alternated LEDs to flash between three images: Steve’s face from a propaganda poster in the forties (complete with a toothpaste smile and a spit-slick side part), the Captain AmeriCock twitpic with an eggplant emoji over the pertinent parts, and animated fireworks surrounding the words “Happy Birthday, Big Guy.”

Steve went stone still. “I’m gonna kill him.”

Bucky’s laughter had moved from giggles to full-body shaking, uproarious guffaws. He couldn’t get the breath to tell Steve that he wouldn’t kill Tony. Steve knew what he meant anyway.

“No, I’m serious, I’m gonna kill him this time. Jarvis will help. Natasha would enjoy the challenge.”

Bucky was clutching at his middle; his entire body was tingling and confused and light and happy. His ass was sore, his stomach hurt from laughing, he’d come so hard he was dizzy, and everything felt intensely and amazingly real. He took a couple of deep breaths that shook their way out of him as laughter, until he was just breathing hard and happy.

“I love you,” Bucky said, soaking the feeling of Steve into his skin.

It was exactly the right thing to say to distract Steve from his slapdash murder plot. He snapped his attention back to Bucky and nuzzled into the sweaty hair at the base of Bucky’s skull before he gently, carefully eased Bucky back down over the couch.

“Steve,” Bucky whined, “it’s wet.” The fabric under him was unpleasantly cool, and already going a bit stiff as it dried. “You made me come all over the fucking upholstry.”

“You hate that couch anyway,” Steve said, standing up and putting his hands on Bucky’s cheeks to spread him apart as he slowly backed his not-yet-soft cock out of Bucky’s messy, swollen hole. 

Bucky felt himself blushing. Steve liked this part but it always seemed too - something. Too real, too dirty, too vulnerable. As Steve slipped free, Bucky’s body tried to clench down on him and found only air. 

“Don’t,” Bucky whispered, but Steve was already getting on his knees. 

“You want me to stop, babydoll?” Steve kissed the bruised skin of Bucky’s hip, leaning over the couch to look down at him where he rested with his hands under his face. 

Bucky gripped at the cushion and squirmed.

“...no.”

“My good baby, letting me treat you nice. Can I be nice to you, sweetheart?”

Bucky attempted to put a hard edge into his voice as Steve sat back, but it just came out breathy and needy.

“Do you even know how to be nice, Rogers?” 

“I think I’ve got some idea,” he said, and then Steve’s finger delicately traced the soft gape he’d left behind. Bucky shivered, feeling exposed and sore and sensitive. He was wrecked, soaked outside with sweat and inside with Steve.

“C’mon baby, push it out. Lemme see what I gave you.”

“ _ Steve _ ,” Bucky whined, his cock twitching on the damp couch that they would definitely be replacing or at least buying a machine-washable slipcover for. 

“Give it to me. I want something sweet, sugar. We’ll call it a birthday cake.” Bucky’s blush got so hot that it stung. Someday Steve was going to go too far and Bucky was going to spontaneously combust from one of the filthy things he said.

“Steve,” he whispered, but did as he was told, tightening up and pushing inside until he could feel the hot, wet mess of come slip out of him and start running down his leg.

“So beautiful,” Steve said. He sounded dazed. Bucky wished he could see his face but he knew what it would look like: Steve would be pink and glowing, his eyes lit up like he was staring at a bonfire.

Strong hands took hold of Bucky’s thighs and pushed them further apart, lifting his feet off the ground and making him feel even more exposed. He felt a hot, wet tongue push into the thick stream of liquid running out of him and whimpered. Steve Rogers was a filthy, perfect, predictable pervert. Bucky had been ready for this, had been extremely careful getting ready for this earlier in the shower, but it was always something of a shock when Steve buried his face in Bucky’s ass to suck his own come out of Bucky’s hole.

Sparks of lightning shot down Bucky’s spine and his dick didn’t know whether to try to rise to the occasion or give up the ghost. After Steve’s cock it took his body a while to recover enough to close up again and it was too soon - a feeling of hot-want-shame washed over him as he tried to clench down and keep Steve’s tongue out and found that he wasn’t able to. He’d been fucked too loose to do anything but take this, let Steve in to lick him clean like a cat lapping at cream.

Bucky was drawing in wet breaths as Steve’s tongue made him ride the edge between desire and overstimulation, and after a couple of minutes he was surprised to find that he was sucking on his own metal fingers and crying a little. He whimpered, and it must have sounded different from his normal whining because Steve took his tongue back and stood up to get a better look at Bucky. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” Steve said, and suddenly Bucky was being picked up by strong arms and the room around him was a blur of confused colors and motion. He caught hold of his senses a little when Steve was pulling back the soft quilt on their bed and settling Bucky onto cool, crisp, dry sheets.

Bucky still wasn’t sure where his head was. Steve started to step away and Bucky’s metal arm darted out to lock down on his wrist and drag him into the bed on top of him, until he was covering Bucky and keeping him safe. He pulled Steve down to kiss him, and came back to himself a little more as he sucked the taste of Steve off of his tongue.

“Don’t wanna be done. Don’t wanna stop,” Bucky whined. His eyes were dry and the colors and shapes of the room were sharp and clear. “I’m okay. Needed you. Need you.”

Steve hummed and ran his big hand up Bucky’s thigh to his chest, fiddling with the gold ring in his nipple. Steve ducked his head and set his teeth around the little bud of flesh before he sucked hard and tugged at the hoop with his tongue. Steve had a matching silver ring sparkling on his own tit. They didn’t have to take these ones off before they went into the field. Bucky let his fingers play over the warm metal, let its solid weight comfort and ground him while Steve bit and licked at his chest.

When he’d decided that Steve had coddled him enough, Bucky got a firmer grip around Steve’s piercing and used it like a tiny, sharp leash to pull him up high enough to kiss again.

“I said I wasn’t done with you, Rogers. You gonna keep teasing me?”

Steve smiled, and quick as a whip he gathered up a handful of Bucky’s hair and used his hold to yank his head to the side so that he could chew on his neck some. Sometimes it was hard to tell if he was a supersoldier or a vampire.

“I always like teasing you, baby boy. You’re so cute when you’re angry,” Steve punctuated that with a sharp nip at the hinge of Bucky’s jaw. “Or horny,” hard teeth set around his Adam’s apple, sucking the salt off his skin and the breath out of his chest. “Or empty,” Steve whispered, and drove his teeth into Bucky’s earlobe at the same time as he pushed two fingers into his ass.

“Ah!” Bucky whined, startled. He hadn’t noticed Steve’s hand creeping down, but even more than that he hadn’t noticed his own cock getting hard again while Steve gnawed at his nipple. 

“I ate you so clean, sugar,” Steve murmured, shifting his big body between Bucky’s legs and angling his fingers inside of him to drive them hard into Bucky’s prostate, making his brain short circuit at the intersection of pain and want in that motion. “You gonna let me fuck you some more? Get you dirty again while you cry?”

“Jesus Christ, Steve,” he moaned, spreading his legs wide, bringing his calves up to rest on Steve’s forearms so he was spread open beneath him, available, afraid, and aroused. “I thought I was supposed to be the machine.”

“You are a machine, baby,” Steve said archly, pushing his middle and ring finger deep into Bucky while his thumb pressed hard into the soft skin behind Bucky’s balls, “but I’m the star-spangled man with a plan.” Bucky wanted to rake Steve over the coals for that line, but then Steve’s mouth was descending on his cock and words stopped working for a little while. 

People thought that Steve was nice. That he rescued puppies and helped old ladies across the street and was a good polite boy who went to church and sat quiet on Sundays.

People didn’t know  _ fuck all _ about Steve Rogers. 

Steve wasn’t  _ nice _ , Steve was  _ effective _ . It’s just that since most of what Steve wanted to accomplish (at least in public) aligned with things the public generally considered ‘good,’ absent any context, the public thought that Steve was nice, because good must mean nice, right?

Tell it to someone who hadn’t spent seventy years in the possession of nice, quiet, churchgoing boys, say it about someone who didn’t consider punching Nazis both a hobby and a passion.

Plus Steve went to church on Wednesdays because it gave him a better opportunity to corner and argue with the priests and the deacons.

Steve was a little shit, and he was amazing at it, and that meant that Bucky’s brain was going to melt out of his ears as Steve forcibly pumped another orgasm out of him with his fingers and his tongue and just the right amount of choking. 

Highly  _ effective _ . 

Once Bucky was panting and shivering with oversensitivity, Steve got up on his knees and carefully covered his cock with the thick, long-lasting lube from their nightstand before he started sinking into Bucky’s spasming hole a centimeter at a time.

Not at all  _ nice _ .

“Oh god, oh,  _ fuck _ , Jesus, fucking  _ God _ , Steve,  _ why _ ?” Bucky couldn’t control his mouth, he couldn’t control his legs, he couldn’t control anything. He was just a passenger watching as Steve utterly unmade him.

“You feel so good when it’s too much, baby,” Steve purred, pushing Bucky’s thighs against his chest and letting himself sink in another few millimeters. “You get all shaky and loose. I like feeling you give up for me.”

Bucky’s insane, completely useless, and utterly untrustworthy cock twitched. Steve laughed.

“I like it when you’re too fucked-out to think about anything else. I like being the center of the universe, even if it’s just for a little while.”

An incredibly dopey smile settled on Bucky’s face. “Honey, you’re always the center of my universe.”

Steve’s hips faltered in their slow push. He glanced up under the sweaty fringe of his hair, blushing and half-smiling; he managed to seem shy and uncertain even after everything they’d done today, and for the last hundred years. For a moment he looked like an angel. Then he looked like a little shit again as he fucked his hips forward and slammed the fucking salami between his legs the rest of the way into Bucky’s body in one fast thrust.

“You say such sweet things to me baby,” Steve dropped one hand to Bucky’s thigh to drag him closer to his body while the other hand closed around his sensitive, sore, half-interested cock. 

“I - ah - I just - f-fuck,” Bucky wasn’t sure what he’d planned to say because the words got knocked out of his mouth by the violent grip Steve had on him.

“I need to be sweet to my sweet baby, don’t I? You want me to make you feel good, baby?” Steve’s hips were gyrating in tight little circles that drove the fat, wet head of his cock directly into Bucky’s prostate over and over again while his tight hand worked over Bucky’s dick. It wasn’t so bad where he had his fingers wrapped around the shaft but his thick, dry thumb was relentlessly rubbing over the crown of his cock and chafing at the slit as it moved.

“S-steve,” Bucky whined, twisting his hips and trying to buck the heavy, overwhelming body off of him. 

Steve wouldn’t let himself be moved. He got a grip on Bucky behind his knee and shoved it down until Bucky was nearly folded in half, his body curled like a comma to perfectly accommodate Steve’s steady, relentless thrusts. “Give it to me, sugar. I want it again. Want you coming for me.”

Bucky shook his head. It wasn’t possible; couldn’t be possible. His dick felt like it was getting rubbed down with shards of glass; his ass was so tender it was starting to go numb. “I can’t,” Bucky whined, “I can’t, please -”

Steve grinned savagely and spit on Bucky’s cock, spreading the moisture over the crown with his thumb before letting his whole palm slide up and get slick and tight before he slid it down again. 

Bucky squealed, and the next breath he drew in was a sob. It was like baptism or a thunderstorm, enormous and holy and drowning him.

Steve groaned as Bucky cried, moving the hand on his cock harder and faster while the movements of his hips got tighter and more erratic. “There’s my little crybaby. I got you, sugar. I’m right here baby. You want me to let go?” 

He twisted the hand on Bucky’s cock to make sure his meaning was clear and Bucky sobbed harder as he shook his head and weakly arched his body into that ground glass grip. Steve turned his head and kissed the inside of Bucky’s knee and it was the last tug he needed to disconnect his brain from the thread of reality. His hole twitched into a stuttered grip as he came and his eyes rolled back in his head.

All the pain in his body floated away as the pleasure crested over him and burned him clean of the unspoken rage and fear that had been rolling through him since the encounter on the terrace. Steve gasped quietly, and went still, but Bucky wasn’t paying attention to that. He was far away and quiet and warm, and Steve was there, and safe, and that was all that mattered.

He heard Steve’s deep voice rumbling happily. He felt gentle hands carefully moving him to his side. It was dark and safe, and Bucky let the gentle light invading the room wash over him like waves.

Between one blink and the next Bucky fell back into himself. The changing light in the room resolved itself as fireworks over the city, miles away and beautiful. Steve was curled up behind him, his thick, soft cock still inside of Bucky while his fingers carefully traced nonsense patterns over all the skin he could reach. 

He waited until Steve’s hand was close to his own, then captured the questing fingers and bent his neck to kiss the knuckles.

“You back with me?” Steve murmured.

“I’m always with you,” Bucky replied. 

And it was a lie. It was a lie because of all the years they’d lost. It was a lie because of the bad days Bucky still had. It was a lie because of the dark places in his head that were still filled in with etchings of his owners and whispers of the words they’d used to take him away.

But Steve hummed and let him lie. 

Steve’s fingers wandered to the ring in his chest while his lips skimmed the bruised places on his neck, and if it was a lie that Bucky was always with him maybe Steve was telling him that it was the truth, too.

It was a nice thought to fall asleep to, and it brought him warm dreams of bright places.


End file.
